“Alex!” X-Ray slammed on the brakes and at the same time Scooter leapt out of the passenger seat. He looked genuinely concerned, his face white in the glare of the headlights. “Are you okay? Jesus! We completely screwed up. We’ve got to get out of here. We shouldn’t be anywhere near.”
“I told you . . . ,” X-Ray began.
“Not now!” Scooter snapped. He grabbed hold of
55
Alex. “As soon as the bombs went off, I knew what had happened. I looked for you, but we must have got separated. You look terrible, mate. Are you hurt?”
“No.” Alex didn’t trust himself to say any more.
“Get in. We’ll get you home. I don’t know what to say to you. We’re complete idiots. We could have gotten you killed.”
This time Alex took the front seat. Scooter climbed in the back with the others, and they set off back down the track and out toward the main road. Alex still wasn’t sure what had just happened—how the SAS men had managed to get themselves into this mess. Nor did he care. He allowed the noise of the engine and the cool night air to drift away, and seconds later he was sound asleep.
5
O N T H E R O C K S
T W O D AY S L AT E R , A L E X had put his experiences at Swanbourne behind him. He was sitting outside a cafe in Sydney, the opera house on one side, the great stretch of the Harbour Bridge on the other. It was the world’s favorite postcard view, and he had seen it many times. But now he was actually in it, eating vanilla- and-strawberry ice cream and watching as the Manly ferry came grinding into the dock, scattering the smaller craft all around it.
The sun was beating down and the sky was a dazzling blue. It was hard to believe that he was really here.
And he wasn’t alone. Jack had joined him the day before, bleary-eyed with jet lag but awake and bursting with excitement the moment she saw him. It had taken her twenty-six hours to get here, and Alex knew she would have been worrying all the way. Jack was meant to look after him. She hated it when he was away—and this time he had never been farther. From the very start she had made it clear that all she wanted was to get him onto a plane and take him back to London. Yes, it was cold and drizzling there. The English winter had already arrived.
Yes, they both deserved a vacation. But it was time to go home.
Jack was also eating ice cream, and although she was
twenty-eight, she suddenly looked younger with her un-tidy red hair, her lopsided smile, and her brightly colored kangaroo T-shirt. More a big sister than a housekeeper.
And above all a friend.
“I don’t know why it’s taking so long,” she was saying.
“It’s ridiculous. By the time you get back, you’ll have missed half the semester.”
“They said they’d have it this afternoon.”
“They should have had it two days ago.” They were talking about Alex’s visa. That morning, Jack had taken a call at the hotel where they were both staying. They had been given an address, a government office in Macquarie Street, just past the old parliament building. The visa would be ready at four o’clock. Alex could pick it up then.
“Could we stay here a couple more days?” Alex asked.
Jack looked at him curiously. “Don’t you want to go home?” she asked.
“Yes.” Alex paused. “I suppose so. But at the same time . . . I’m not quite sure I’m ready to go back to school.
I’ve been thinking about it. I’m sort of worried I’m not going to be able to fit in.”
“Of course you’ll fit in, Alex. You’ve got lots of friends.
They’ve all been missing you. Once you’re back, you’ll forget any of this stuff ever happened.” But Alex wasn’t so sure. He and Jack had talked about it the evening before. After all he had been through, how could he go back to geography lessons and school lunches
S N A K E H E A D
and being told off for running too fast down the corridor?
The day MI6 had recruited him, they had built a wall between him and his past life, and he wondered if there was now any way back.
“I’ve hardly been to school this year,” he muttered.
“I’m way behind.”
“Maybe we can get Mr. Grey to come over this Christmas break,” Jack suggested. Mr. Grey was the teacher who had given Alex extra tutoring during the summer.
“You got along well with him, and he’d soon help you catch up.”
“I don’t know, Jack . . .” Alex looked at the ice cream, melting on his spoon. He wished he could explain how he felt. He didn’t want to work for MI6 again. He was sure of that. But at the same time . . .
“It’s three thirty,” Jack said. “We ought to be on our way.”
They got up and made their way along the side of the opera house and up into the botanical gardens—the
